Help- JW
by astudyinphxn
Summary: Sherlock receives a text from John, that sends him into panic. This leads him on a case, involving friends, relatives, and love, all wrapped up in one mystery surrounding Sherlock's heart.


# Ch1

22:18

Help

JW

Sherlock stared down at his phone in a frozen panic. His knees began to buckle as his hands clenched.

It was these four letters that sent Sherlock into panic. Names that were unconnected ran through his head. Mycroft? Lestrade? Molly? Mary? Who to call? They all blended into each other. Nothing made sense.

There was nothing on the text. Maybe He could trace it? That was impossible. Wherever he was, it was most likely to be his fault, that John Watson was in danger because of him.

John who he hadn't seen in weeks. John who was supposed to be with Mary. John for whom his heart ached and longed for every second of the day, and he needed help.

Sherlock flung a file of paper across the room, ignoring the mess. He tore paper, punched the wall, and created a chaos of files and information that all crowded together into nonsense.

The anchor of his mind palace had gone, nothing but anarchy ensued.

* * *

"Sherlock?" Lestrade climbed the creaking stairs to the lounge of 221b. This case was something to do with Sherlock, and his many clients., however, engaging him in such activities had been difficult as of late, and keeping him away from the drugs had always been the highest priority.

Remembering the first time Lestrade met Sherlock, he was on a case, and on a lead that led him to a drug den in east London, where he had picked up a young man in a very bad way. He was later contacted by the hospital that the man wanted to see him. Baffled, he made his way over, only to find that the man he had picked up the night before was sitting upright, reading a stack of newspapers.

"The brother."

"What?"

The man lowered the newspaper. He looked directly at Lestrade. "The case. It was Calum Harrison's brother, Sam. He broke in on the Saturday even-"

"Wait, how do you even know about that case? We haven't even gone to the press-"

"I've just solved the case and you ask me this?"

"Ok, yes. I'm intrigued. Go on. Why Sam Harrison?"

After the explanation had been delivered, Lestrade looked at the ridiculously intelligent man in front of him.

"You ever thought of doing any detective work? You know, with the police?"

"I'm a Consulting Detective."

"Sorry?"

"Sometimes, when your lot are out of your depth, which, of course you would know, is always, they consult me. Ever heard of D.I Gregson?"

"Yes, left the Met a while ago. Great guy. Best we ever had, I suppose."

"He used to get my help. Haven't had anything for a while though."

"Would you be interested in another case? Mr..."

"Sherlock Holmes." He said, offering his hand.

"D.I Lestrade." Lestrade shook his hand firmly.

That was something that would remain in his mind forever, although he was pretty sure Sherlock didn't retain this in his Mind Palace.

The case of the cab driver was a different story though. Known around and about as 'A Study in Pink', _this_ was Dr John Watson's first appearance. Lestrade had never questioned the fact that Sherlock seemed to have no friends, to shoot down anyone who tried to compliment him, and was rude to pretty much everyone, that's just how he was. But with John, Sherlock had seemed drawn in. Not only was he smiling whenever John was in his presence, Sherlock began to become a better person, apologizing and thanking, when prompted of course, and Lestrade knew that whatever sexuality these men may be, this was a relationship that would last. Both loved and cared about each other, in as many ways possible, except, they couldn't see it.

And that was all before the fall and the wedding.

Lestrade was greeted with a sobbing wreck. This, was the most extreme he had ever seen, and maybe even heard of. His brother, Mycroft, had told tales of Redbeard, that Sherlock must never know he knew, and this was worse.

"Oh my god, Sherlock, what happened?"

Making a hopeless effort to pick up the papers around him, Greg looked down at the shaking figure. Crouching on the floor, he immediately checked for signs that Sherlock was high. When he was satisfied that he was clean, Lestrade sat down, and frantically attempted to find out what had happened.

"Sherlock, is this about him again? Is it about John?"

Sherlock looked up suddenly. He stood up and slumped onto the sofa. "He's in danger."

Lestrade pressed his face into his palms. "God." A shaking hand held the phone for Lestrade to see.

"We could trace it. Has the captor got in touch at all? Sherlock, this is important."

"I KNOW IT'S IMPORTANT!"

The shout rang out throughout 221b. It bounced off walls, and filled the silence that followed.

"I know- I _know_ that it is important."

The two men sat opposite each other, as a question hung among the dust and silence between them. Greg was the first to say it.

"What do we do?"

"We need to find his phone. He has a GPS system- you remember, like Jennifer Wilson." Sherlock grabbed his laptop from the floor, and brought up the website. Sherlock hesitated a second, hovering over the password box, before typing in something, fast.

"I'm not even going to ask yo-"

"lauristongardens129. There are various ones similar."

Greg chuckled to himself, before realising there were much more serious matters in hand.

The map loaded, and the location was revealed.

That was not what the Detective Inspector was expecting, however this must be something to do with Sherlock, and with those criminals, it was always the unexpected.

"The wedding reception-"

"Where the reception was held. It's about two hours' drive. Did you come in a police car?"

"No, my own."

"Brilliant."

Sweeping the laptop from the table, Sherlock took the famous coat and scarf and pulled them on. There were some chinks in his armour this time though, for instance, the salty remnants of a tear staining his face.

As Lestrade began to walk out the door, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock slip an envelope from the inside of a book, and put in in the inside pocket of his coat.

And without a swish of a coat, or a hair ruffle, Sherlock was outside 221b, and his heart was screaming.

* * *

The drive was silent. The only sounds were Sherlock's fingers on the laptop keyboard, and the fierce rain on the windscreen. Until the call.

Greg's ringtone began to echo through the car, and as he pressed the answer button, the voice of Mycroft Holmes drifted into the car.

"Greg, Little Brother."

"Mycroft."

The tension between the two brothers was stifling, even though one of them was miles away. Although, when it came to Mycroft Holmes, he was never far away.

"You're not seriously tracking this person down, Sherlock? You have no idea what you are up against. This could be sincerely dangerous for you and Mr Lestrade."

"You know why I am going, Mycroft." Sherlock spat the words out, before a knowing silence followed, ringing with unspoken knowledge of John. "He's in danger." Another chink appeared in his armour, as Lestrade noticed a similar tone to that of the Sherlock he had seen earlier; in panic and so dreadfully distraught.

Mycroft sighed in defeat. "I have maximum surveillance on the building and surrounding area. Be careful."

Lestrade kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead as the older Holmes ended the call. Mycroft cared for his brother, in such a Holmsian way, that a stranger wouldn't see it at all. But Greg, having known them both for a while, could sense the genuine meaning in that 'Be careful'.

"I should have called back up." Lestrade finally said.

"No. Bad idea." Sherlock shook his head. "If this is what I think it is then back up may make it worse. Whoever has John could-" Sherlock's voice cracked toward the end of the scentence and Lestrade nodded.

"Ok, ok. But you are not doing this alone. You have the support of both me, and your brother. Ok?"

"Ummhm."

A moving cloud revealed a collection of stars, and then the moon, hanging in the sky. Greg wished and prayed to every god, deity, and star he knew the name of, that John Watson would be safe. And hands gripped on the steering wheel, he thought of the Holmes brothers, and how he, nor John, or Molly, or Mrs Hudson, were safe with them, but it gave them all a brilliant sense of meaning. And what really mattered to them?

Both of them had decided to forget what happened in Baker Street earlier, or at least to not speak of it again. Lestrade knew he would never be thanked if he told mycroft about it. Well, to be fair, he wouldn't be thanked about anything really.

When Mycroft first spoke to him, it was the evening after he had picked up Sherlock. After pretty much kidnapping him, and taking him to an abandoned house on the side of a train line, Mycroft sat in a chair opposite him, twirling his umbrella, illuminated only by the moonlight.

"What is your business with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Sorry, what's this about?"

"You rescued him from a drug den. He usually keeps himself to himself in those places. That must've been some serious moral motivation, Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Who are you? Some kind of... Arch enemy?"

"No, I'm his brother."

And that was one of the few times he had seen the older Holmes smile.

Recently, He was called to an emergency meeting with him. Where he proceeded to look down at his desk for a few minutes before saying:

"Does Sherlock love John Watson?"

Of course Sherlock loves John, it was always the talk at The Yard. What with sweepstakes and all, until John got married. It wasn't hard to see someone had a severe case of heartbreak. Yes, Lestrade did think Sherlock loved John. In fact he knew that Sherlock Holmes loved John Watson.


End file.
